


Clap of Thunder

by brodiew



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Arrogance, Gen, Grief, Reconciliation, Substance Abuse, apology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodiew/pseuds/brodiew
Summary: Raffi considers Picard's clapping after she burned the last bridge she had to Starfleet.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Clap of Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Tag to Star Trek: Picard episode 6: The Impossible Box - There are times in this series where I questioned Picard's actions, socially. There a are queues that he missed or moments where he lack the compassion his character is known for. Part of this could be attributed to age, but there is also the fact the even after all he has been through in the lead up to this series, that he has an arrogance regarding his former status that he is not fully aware of, or thinks is gone, but isn't.
> 
> It is short and not so sweet. It is also the first fic I've written in months.

Clap of Thunder 

Jean-Luc Picard stood and clapped as Raffi burned her last bridge with Starfleet. It was a bridge she was not happy to burn, but her loyalty outweighed her disdain when it came to JL. If he wanted on that damnable Articfact, then she would hop to like a good little officer and do what he asked. Orders were orders even if neither one of them had been in Starfleet for the last 14 years.

She did not like the clapping, though. It stung. What was he doing? She had done it for him, but it was like he didn't understand the cost. How could Jean-Luc Picard not understand the cost? She hugged her whiskey close and patted her coat pocket for her snake week vape. As she turned from the console she nearly fell from the chair. Thank the universe for Rios. Even if JL had lost his mind for a moment, or at least his sense of propriety, Rios understood. He had his own pain, but he knew hers very well. She gave Picard a sideways glance as Rios escorted her from the bridge back to her quarters. He was sitting again, smiling in relief. She had been blind to his faults; starry-eyed with hero worship. She still was, but she was wiser now. The great Captain of the Enterprise was only a man, imperfect by nature and down right self absorbed in this moment.

She kept watching him as Rios half carried her to the turbolift. His smile faded when he locked eyes with Jurati. Raffi traced the line of sight and saw the glistening eyes of a woman who understood, a woman who knew sacrifice, different and treacherous, but sacrifice all the same. She did't care to look back at JL. She didn't want to see something she might never forget.

She wanted to get high, but she was so tired. Blackmailing a Starfleet admiral, a friend, or, at least, putting her in an impossible position, took all she had. Picard would now be able to board the Romulan held, inactive, Borg Cube. She hoped it was worth it. She was barely conscious when Rios took her whiskey bottle and put it on the bad side table. Damn you, JL...

* * * * *

The door chime intruded on her alcohol induced coma. She didn't want to answer. She wanted to sleep...forever.

"Go away!" she growled, turning and pulling the covers over her head.

The chime continued, incessantly.

"I don't want to talk to anybody," she said in a drunken drawl.

Chime.

"Audio on," she said, repressing tears.

"Raffi," the familiar voice pleaded. "I need to talk to you. I...was-I don't know how to-"

"It is always about what you need, isn't it, JL?" she sobbed. "Your needs and...everyone else can rot. I'm not your officer anymore. I don't want to open the door so I won't. Don't bother asking Rios, either."

"I would...never..." Picard stammered. "Please, Raffi. I was wrong. I want you to see that I know...I was wrong.

Raffi activated the door and it slid open. Picard stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped, a shameful frown on his face. He stepped in and sat on the edge of her bed. Her covers were pulled tight around her, but her head protruded enough to see him. Her mop of frizzy golden brown hair partially obscured her face.

He placed a hand where her leg was under cover. “Raffi, I-”

“Don't talk, JL,” she said, softly.

He nodded, gently stroking her leg, then letting his hand rest in place.


End file.
